Blank Canvas
by Blue reminisce
Summary: A picture paints a thousand words, a picture brings emotions, a picture heals, and brings together the people destined for each other. Haruka is a lonely painter, and Makoto is a reluctant heir. A MakoHaru story.
1. Chapter 1

**"Because empty canvases are the hardest to fill."**

**Cover picture belongs to the artist~**

Xxx

Haruka sat the last canvas down on the pavement, setting his stool down on the cobblestones, he sat and stared at the blank canvas on his easel. The first stroke of his pencil was always the hardest to place. Sighing, he settled on another painting of the city, this time he imagined a bird's eye view angle for an interesting touch, picking up his pencil he started a basic sketch. He hoped sales would be good today, as he had come to wish that every day for that matter. While some days were fruitful, with many tourist buying his work of the city scape, other days, especially rainy days, would be hard with only one or two small pieces sold. Still he would say that he got by decently in this trade.

The people in the city knew Haru as the one that paints marvelous paintings, beautiful works of art that stole your breath away. The artist had appeared out of nowhere a year ago, one fine day his street stall had just sprung up by the sidewalk and there it stayed. Now, almost an intrinsic part of the rustic city, a landmark almost. Experts from the industry quickly noticed him of course, his natural talent gaining him numerous offers of scholarship to pursue fine arts, or display his pieces as part of an exhibition, even join the royal art establishment, but Haru turned all of them down. He preferred to stay by his stall, quietly painting and running his small business, keeping to himself, never taking on any project that he had no interest in. Eventually, they gave up on their requests, and left Haru to his own devices, though slightly miffed at his constant refusal.

The man was also known as the one that never smiled. His blue eyes that gave nothing away, only a cool and aloof expression on his face. Many wondered why the man always seemed so sad. Rumours ran that he was an orphaned son of a painter, for that was the only reason for his talent. Others played up the drama and said that he was once a rich man's son who was cheated on by his wife who stole his fortune, and was forced onto the streets as a heart broken man, drowning his sorrows in art. After all that must be why his work could always tug on your emotions. But alas, no one actually knew the real story behind their city's mysterious painter. That's right, their mysterious painter, anyone that came to know about Haruka always seemed to have an odd attachment to the man. The art scene named him… 'The lonely painter'.

Haruka was fully engrossed in his work, when a shadow loomed behind him, and then a hand slapped him on the back, "Yo!"

He looked up, then tilted his head in acknowledgement, "Nagisa…" he murmured.

"Oh my god, you just said my name," the blond said excitedly. It had taken him almost six months. Six months! Just to hear his first name from Haruka's mouth. He remembered the constant 'Hazuki-san' always grating against his informal, carefree personality.

"Sandwich," Haru stuck his hand out.

"Ah, right!" Nagisa handed him the takeout bag, and then the cup of steaming tea.

"Thanks," Haru muttered, no longer surprised when Nagisa sat cross legged in front of his stall and ate lunch with him. The other man just went on and on continuously about everything and anything.

Ever since Haru had wondered into Nagisa's café and bistro and tried one of their house sandwiches, it was one of the best things the artist had tasted in a long time…the concept of mackerel sandwich was genius. It was only later which he met the chef behind the delicious creations, a blue haired guy named Rei. The chef held a fascination for his oil paintings, for reasons that still eluded Haru till today. But, from that day on, lunch was now decidedly settled with daily deliveries from Nagisa himself. Haru still didn't understand why the pair had somehow made it their mission to take care of him. Forming their rather uncanny friendship of sorts.

"Oh and Haru…and café will be throwing a mini party cause it's been one year since we opened…it's this Saturday… you have to come okay!" Nagisa poked a finger in Haru's direction.

"You know I don't go to parties…" Haru said, finishing up the last bite of his mackerel sandwich.

"Then I'm going to invite you every day till you agree!" Nagisa replied gleefully.

Haru felt a twitch of annoyance. He didn't like parties…bad things always happened at parties. A memory threatened to overcome him, before a soft 'excuse me' pulled him out of it.

Both Haru and Nagisa looked up to find a well-dressed, olive haired man with green eyes looking back at them.

Nagisa took one look at the man, and his mouth widened in an 'O'. Nagisa thought the man was gorgeous…and perfect for his artist friend…honestly...Haruka deserved more friends.

"Well, Haru, I'll be going then since this customer is here eh," Nagisa clapped Haru on the back and gave a cheeky wink to the stranger standing in front of the stall and then running off. Haru noticed that the stranger was slightly taken a back by Nagisa's brash manner and suppressed a sigh.

"Can I help you?" Haruka said, standing up and snapping into business mode.

Even standing, the stranger in front of him was still taller. Haru didn't know why, but the kind smile on the person's face drew his gaze to the brunette's features.

"Uh…yea… I'm interested in that painting over there," the other replied, Haru's gaze slid from the man's lips and followed a pointed finger.

Xxx

**Thank you for reading~**

**Just seeing if this idea would work out or not…**

**Continue?**

**._.**


	2. Chapter 2

Xxx

Haru stared at the pointed picture like he had never seen that piece of art in his life. It was a piece that he did so long ago, and was placed at such an obscure place he wondered how the green eyed man even noticed it… The painted waves of blue pulled him into a memory…

_He was sinking._

_The water dragging him down, surrounding him, like a watery web of hands, pushing, tugging…smothering._

_His limbs heavy, every muscle screaming at him to move, every nerve twitching but not seeming to obey his brains commands to move._

_To… esca- _

"Excuse me."

A timbre voice called out, breaking his chain of thought. Blue eyes snapped to green.

Makoto held the unwavering gaze for two seconds before, shifting nervously on one foot, he wondered what he was doing, buying paintings in the middle of the day. But he couldn't help it, just one look at the swirl of blue on canvas, and he knew he had to have it. He was drawn to the shades of aqua, reminding him of the ocean, and also…strangely of steel. The artist of the piece had a great hand in brush strokes, as if every line across the piece was wrought with tempered emotion.

"Take it," the colour stained apron wearing artist said to Makoto, waving a shaky hand, and then sitting down to furiously mix a brown hue on his palette.

Makoto frowned, that just wouldn't do. Such a painting deserved a price and he was determined to pay what he owed.

"Please, allow me to at least pay you," Makoto tried.

"I said, you may have it…" Haru said curtly in reply, "…for free," he added for good measure so that there would be no doubt. He wondered why he even kept that painting in the first place, it was sloppy and way below his standards now. Looking at it only reminded him of things he'd rather not dig up again. Now why couldn't this infuriating man just leave him alone.

"But-"

"Do you want it or not," Haru eventually whispered, stabbing his brush not too kindly into the cup of water at his feet. Causing it to almost tip over and make a mess on the pavement. He wanted to move on with his paintings!

"I do, but-" Makoto stopped himself this time has he caught the gaze of the painter, silently telling him to take it or leave it.

With a sigh, the man in the suit conceded, picking up the painting lightly with one hand, tilting his head back, he asked one last question, "Will you at least tell me your name?"

Haru's eyes flared with slight surprise, he'd thought the man would have been smart enough to catch his name when Nagisa had oh-so-kindly blasted it to the world.

"Haruka," the artist murmured anyway.

Lifting the painting slightly, as if giving a toast to the blue-eyed man, Makoto smiled a small smile and said, "Thank you, Haruka…-san."

Haru was slightly perplexed at the way his customer said –san like an afterthought, the man was probably new to the town… Haru stowed that piece of information away. Not that it mattered though, since they would probably not cross paths again…right?

Xxx

Makoto continued nodding causal greetings to people who stared at him curiously for carrying a painting into the building, those were the ones that didn't know who he was, and the higher ups in the management were slightly more respectful and stopped to give a little bow. It had been four years since he'd last entered this building, and not much had changed save for the seemingly colder glint of well-worn steel under its cheery façade of shiny glass. It was as if the building was designed to subtly reflect the kind business that his father owned.

Stepping into the lift that would take him up to the top floor, Makoto was actually rather lost in thought about the sidewalk painter, he promised silently to himself that he would return and offer some sort of payment for the artwork. It just didn't sit well with him to receive free items from people he'd just met.

"You're late, young master," A voice sounded, trailing off almost sarcastically at the end. The title drew a wince from Makoto and jolted him out of his thoughts.

"Ah haha, Gou…I might have gotten a little lost along the way…" Makoto smiled sheepishly at the accusation.

A flaming head of hair tied up in a ponytail almost caught him in the face, as Gou's eyes narrowed and homed in on the painting he carried. The girl was his specially chosen play mate and study companion since he was young, and now she was to be his assistant as well, her roles moulding itself to whatever stage of maturity he was at.

"You went shopping?!" She said incredulously.

"It was on the way, just a few streets down, a small detour," Makoto tried to explain, leaning the landscape art piece against a chair, "could you hang it up on the wall in my office? It was your idea to decorate it if I remember correctly."

A few streets down…"Ah, Haruka…" the red head said in understanding, she did often stop and stare at the artwork the painter did when she had the time, getting lost in the emotions that his simple brush strokes conveyed…not that she was going to tell Makoto that…she shook her head and said, "that still doesn't mean you can walk in," her eyes flicked to the wall clock, "twenty minutes late for your appointment with the president!" She wondered if his spending time abroad had been a good thing or not.

At the mention of his father Makoto's expression changed a little as he threw a slightly apprehensive glance at the closed double doors that led to the president's office.

Not caring to answer Gou, Makoto took a breath, and knocked smartly on the wooden panel, rearranging his normally cheerful expression carefully into one of stoic coolness. After all, it would not do at all to confront his father with anything short of perfection.

Gou watched as a sharp 'come in' commanded Makoto to enter, and she let slip a sad smile as the straightened shoulders of the man she'd grown up with disappeared behind the door. There was nothing she could do for him now.

Turning around, she was reminded of the painting that Makoto had brought back, she pursed her lips, examining it.

Xxx

**Thanks for reading and to those that encouraged me to write this chapter well a big thanks to you too~**

**I have rough ideas for this story but really that's it…there's nothing concrete yet.**

**I shall see if the muse keeps up with this or not._.**

**/hides**


	3. Chapter 3

Xxx

Haruka wanted to scream in frustration. The day had been terrible! Horrible! Disgusting! Not in terms of sales though… oh no. The money that came in today from the paintings would have been just on sales target, if he actually had a sales target chart. The problem was with the painting itself. Haru looked in dismay at his array of half-finished pieces of canvas. Nothing was right with them. From the colour to the balance, to the lines and value…he hadn't remembered painting this badly since he first started. A crease of his brow marred his usually expressionless face, as he started packing up, avoiding today's disaster pieces like the plague. He hate them not being completed.

And all this was because of that infuriating man. He was sure of it. Digging up art pieces of his that were so long ago, causing him to be so distracted, to lose focus. How could he hope to draw anything when all he could picture in his head was that green-eyed person!

Xxx

Gou admired the work of art. More like, it felt like she was sucked into it. The shade of blue was so skilfully rendered, she felt lost in it. Like she was drowning. Shaking her head in wonderment at how she was pulled emotionally to a mere picture. She wondered how Makoto felt when he looked at the picture, everyone's interpretation of art was different after all. It was a strange choice for her best friend, since it was a rather melancholic picture for his true cheerful personality, or was the choice on purpose given the masks he had to wear. Nevertheless, she picked it up and headed to Makoto's office, it would do nicely indeed on the wall facing his lounge.

Xxx

The door clicked softly, the tumblers in the lock sliding into place, making the olive haired man feel trapped for a second before he brushed off the sentiment. His father's back faced him, hands neatly clasped behind his back, staring out of the window that provided a panoramic view of the city. The older man did not bother turning around to acknowledge his son's entrance.

"You're late." His father stated.

"My apologies, Father," Makoto said stiffly in reply, there were no excuses to be made here. He had tried before, and wasn't willing to sample another stinging slap to his cheek.

"No matter, come here and stand with me, Makoto."

The words almost seemed kind, but Makoto knew better. Trusting his father would be akin to trusting a snake.

Makoto was about to walk over, when a soft sniffle caught his attention. Looking over, in the corner of the room, just beside one of the expensive plush couches was a silver-haired teen on his knees, shaking in fear as he realised that Makoto heard him. The tear streaked face dipped downwards, now concentrating on his clenched fists bunching the fabric of his loose sweatpants.

Makoto winced on the inside as he saw the start of a bruise on the side of then teen's face, the need to comfort was so strong, he took half a step toward the boy, then stopped and reconsidered, when he felt a gaze burning holes into his back.

"Don't mind him," Makoto's father said indifferently, "he is nothing."

"He's a kid," Makoto whispered.

His father snorted in disgust, why on earth did he have to have a son that was smart but useless.

Makoto felt fingers digging into his shoulder, and a warm breath near his ear, "lesson number one son. He is nothing but a pawn." His father pushed him into a chair by the window, the elder man leaned casually against the backrest.

"Just watch," his father leered, as he barked out an order to the kneeling figure, "go pick up that knife by the fruit bowl."

Makoto could only watch helplessly while the teen obeyed and crawled over to the side table and picked up the knife with trembling hands.

His father's voice then took on a more malicious edge, "…now…my dear Aiichiro…which part of you would you deem least important hmm?"

Silver-grey eyes widened in panic.

But Makoto's eyes never left the gleaming edge of the blade, "stop this…"

"You wish to stop it…but the boy must be punished for insulting one of my very important clients. Maybe a little finger eh, just the tip of the littlest finger, what do you think?"

Mako looked over at the Aiichiro, who looked like he was about to pass out.

"No…" Makoto started, then seeing his father's raised eyebrow he thought quickly on his feet, what was one thing his father wanted from him? "I'll listen to whatever you have to say if you let him go."

"Oh? But I can't go back on my word to punish him…" his father mocked. It was a good card played by his son though, complete compliance from his son was always such a hard thing to get.

"Fine." Turning to the teen, Makoto said firmly, "Take the knife, cut off a lock of your hair and give it to me and get out."

The unexpectedness of the command took the teen by surprise, until Makoto snapped at him to hurry up, and the silver haired boy stumbled out of the office as fast as he could. What the young Tachibana missed, was the slight slide of Aiichiro's gaze to his father and the imperceptible nod from his father standing behind him.

Holding the strands of silver hair in his hand, Makoto released his grip on it and watched the strands fall, turning to his father and said, "happy?"

"Going overseas has turned you soft, but the fact that you are not cowering in front of me like you used to may mean you still have some hope." Makoto's father turned the chair his son was sitting in, so that it faced the window. He was honestly quite disgusted, his son barely passed that first test, didn't want to break his son, oh no, he just wanted to control him, to teach him just, exactly, how to run the business. Besides, the random bouts of defiance amused him greatly.

They looked out over the city for a while.

"What do you see, Makoto?" his father asked.

"The city," Makoto dutifully answered.

"That's right, Makoto, MY city," the older man turned to glance at his son briefly, "my will, my actions, my words…that control the ebb and flow of the city life. That subtly impacts the lives of the people, in my hands…And soon…you will earn your keep and one day, it will be yours as well."

"But-"

"Did you think I called you back for nothing, Makoto?" his father said mockingly, "from next week, you will be meeting up with people, forming the connections you will need, you will head operations and you will…obey…and learn." The open threat of 'or else' didn't even need to be said anymore. It was already an understanding.

Makoto knew what this all meant, even as he said 'yes' with clenched teeth. So called 'meeting up with people' meant that those 'people' would be his father's spies. They would constantly watch him, waiting for him to slip up. 'Forming connections' was even worse, it meant dipping his hands into the black market, navigating the back alleys of politics and business, all for the sake of staying 'clean' on the outside of course. Those places were his father's second home and playground. 'Heading operations'… Makoto almost wanted to snort at how mild the words were compared to the action, lives would be lost in these 'operations' he was no longer naïve to that fact. And the last part, 'obey…and learn' was the most simple to understand of all, it was a thinly veiled way of saying, mess up and there will be a piece to pay.

The elder Tachibana in the room narrowed his eyes, saying softly, "Remember Makoto, for the sake of Ren and Ran…if not for anything else…"

The oily way his Father said his step-siblings names made him want to punch something.

Xxx

**Thank you for reading! Hoped you liked it~**

**Um…sorry it took so long, I really had no time, and I had no idea what to write either…this chapter was sitting around on the desktop for some time T T…sorry it's just bad story planning so I'm going about it much slower than if I actually had an idea from start to finish in mind. The characters I've planned for the story so far are complex and I'm thinking about them really really hard your kind reviews have kept me going~^^**

**I think the pacing is kinda slow so far as I'm working things out, but I'll see what I can do about that ^^"**

**Hopefully the muse keeps up with this~**

**/rolls**


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